Breakfast of Champions
by UnaMariah1999
Summary: Tony has given the entire staff (including the caterers) of Stark Towers the week off. And the Avengers want omelets for breakfast. Chaos ensues.


It began when Cap decided he wanted omelets for breakfast. Unfortunately, the morning he decided that was also the morning after Tony had gotten drunk at a party and given the whole staff of Stark Towers a paid week off. Needless to say, none of the Avengers were particularly happy when they found out. Cap, Thor, and Bruce raided the kitchen and decided they would make breakfast. Tony was a rather unwilling participant.

Natasha stopped in around ten o'clock to see how the boys were making out with breakfast. She opened the kitchen door open a crack. The first thing she heard was Tony loudly complaining, "Hasn't anyone in this room ever heard of takeout? Can we just eat breakfast out? I never liked omelets – I certainly don't like wearing them, _Thor_!"

"I apologize, Iron One, I did not mean to destroy the—"

"Yeah, yeah," Tony cut him off. "This shirt used to be black." Natasha almost didn't go in then, but the door was suddenly open. "Tasha, thank GOD. You're a woman, give us a hand."

She stared at Tony wordlessly. Tony's shirt was covered in flour and flecks of yellow goo. He looked a bit wild-eyed. Her gaze traveled over the kitchen. Thor was standing by the stove. He was also covered in yellow goo. Bruce and Cap were standing next to him, covered in goop and bits of eggshell, with helpless grins on their faces.

Clint was sitting on the counter as far away from the others as he could get, one knee drawn up and an arm wrapped around it. He was nibbling on a slice of toast speared on one of his arrows, and he smiled faintly at Natasha. She returned the smile with a dip of her head.

"Whadja say, Natasha?" Tony pleaded. "They're killing me."

Natasha returned her cool gaze to him. "What makes you think I know how to cook? And even if I did, why would I help you?"

Tony sputtered. "Uh…compassion and the brotherhood of man?"

"As you pointed out, I'm a woman." Natasha checked her cell phone before glancing up and meeting Tony's desperate gaze with a hint of a smile. "And I'm going shopping. Bye, Clint."

Tony lunged past her and slammed the door. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

"Get out of my way, Stark," she warned him.

"Aw, come on. You're a sexy Russian spy-slash-assassin and you can't make an omelet?"

"And you're a genius billionaire playboy. You can't make an omelet?"

"Hey, my areas are attractiveness, ingenuity, and success with the ladies. I never claimed to know how to cook."

Natasha smiled at him. Then she stepped in close to him, seized his arm, and judo-flipped him over her shoulder. She gazed down into his stunned eyes. "Success with the ladies, huh? _Do svidaniya_, boys." She waggled her fingers in a wave, and stepped over Tony's prostrate body out the door.

Silence.

"Nobody. Say. Anything," Tony gritted out.

There was a snort of laughter from Thor before he managed to clap a hand over his mouth. Tony let his head fall back to the floor with a sigh.

_**[TWO HOURS LATER]**_

The male members of the Avengers were slumped around the kitchen table. Splashes of hardening egg yolk adorned the walls, the floor, the countertops, the Avengers and certain portions of the ceiling. Thor had whisked eggs enthusiastically. A bit too enthusiastically.

"I'm still hungry," Thor grumbled, glaring at the crumbs on his plate.

"No way am I cleaning up this kitchen." Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll bring in a bio-hazard team to do the job."

"…are you going to finish that toast?" Bruce asked, tilting his head sideways as he eyed Tony's unfinished toast-on-toast sandwich.

"Nah, ashes aren't really my thing." Tony slid the plate across to Bruce with two fingers. "Dig in." Tony dropped his head to his folded arms.

Suddenly the door swung open, and Natasha strode into the room and dropped two large, brown paper bags onto the table.

"What's that?" Tony asked, pushing himself upright with interest.

Natasha smirked at him. "The Shawarma joint had takeout."


End file.
